Long After Midnight

Inhis first collection in seven years, the incomparable Ray Bradbury conjures upeerie ghosts of the past, present, and future that will bewitch and disturb hismillions of readers.

Meetthe parrot to whom Hemingway confided the plot of his last, greatest, andnever-written novel; the invisible ice-woman who called herself "MelissaToad, Witch" and offered perfect love and a magical immunity; the rookiecop who was stunned by a girl's suicide—until he learned "her"secret, plus 19 morehauntingsand celebrations.

"Eachentry is a miniature and a jewel ... He can establish a mood in a line, cansuggest things that go bump in the night in soaring poetic fashion . . . Thisis rainy-night stuff."

—SanFranciscoChronicle

BantamBooks by Ray Bradbury

Askyour bookseller for the books you have missed

DANDELIONWINE

DINOSAURTALES

THEGOLDEN APPLES OF THE SUN

THE HALLOWEEN TREE

ISING THE BODY ELECTRIC!

THE ILLUSTRATED MAN

LONGAFTERMIDNIGHT

THEMACHINERIES OF JOY

THEMARTIAN CHRONICLES

AMEDICINE FOR MELANCHOLY

R IS FOR ROCKET

SIS FOR SPACE

SOMETHINGWICKED THIS WAY COMES

BANTAMBOOKSTORONTO•NEW YORK•LONDON•SYDNEY

This low-priced Bantam Bookhas been completely reset in a type facedesigned for easy reading, and wasprintedfrom new plates. It containsthe completetext of the originalhard-cover edition.

BantamBooks are published by Bantam Books, Inc. Its trademark, consisting of thewords "Bantam Books" and the portrayal of a rooster, is Registered inU.S.Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries.MarcaRegistrada. Bantam Books, Inc.,666Fifth Avenue,New York,NewYork10103.

PRINTEDIN THEUNITED STATES OF AMERICA

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This book, with love,

is dedicated to William F. Nolan,amazing collector, fantasticresearcher, dear friend.

Thesundials were tumbled into white pebbles. The birds of the air now flew inancient skies of rock and sand, buried, their songs stopped. The dead seabottoms werecurrentedwith dust which flooded theland when the wind bade it reenact an old tale of engulfment. The cities weredeep laid with granaries of silence, time stored and kept, pools and fountainsof quietude and memory.

Marswas dead.

Then,out of the large stillness, from a great distance, there was an insect soundwhich grew large among the cinnamon hills and moved in the sun-blazed air untilthe highway trembled and dust was shook whispering down in the old cities.

Thesound ceased.

Inthe shimmering silence ofmidday, Albert Beck and Leonard Craig sat in anancientlandcar, eyeing a dead city which did notmove under their gaze but waited for their shout:

"Hello!"

Acrystal tower dropped into soft dusting rain.

"Youthere!"

Andanother tumbled down.

Andanother and another fell as Beck called, summoning them to death. In shatteringflights, stone animals with vast granite wings dived to strike the courtyardsand fountains. His cry summoned them like living beasts and the beasts gaveanswer, groaned, cracked, leaned up, tilted over, trembling, hesitant, thensplit the air and swept down with grimaced mouths and empty eyes, with sharp,eternally hungry teeth suddenly seized out and strewn like shrapnel ontheLtiles.

Beckwaited. No more towers fell.

"It'ssafe to go in now."

Craigdidn't move. "For the same reason?"

Becknodded.

"Fora damnedbottlelI don't understand. Why does everyonewant it?"

Beckgot out of the car. "Those that found it, they never told, they neverexplained. But—it's old. Old as the desert, as the dead seas—and it mightcontain anything. That's what the legend says. And because itcouldhold anything—well, that stirs aman's hunger."

"Yours,not mine," said Craig. His mouth barely moved; his eyes were half-shut,faintly amused. He stretched lazily. "I'm just along for the ride. Betterwatching you than sitting in the heat."

Beckhad stumbled upon the oldlandcara month back,before Craig had joined him. It was part of the flotsam of the First IndustrialInvasion of Mars that had ended when the race moved on toward the stars. He hadworked on the motor and run it from city to dead city, through the lands of theidlers and roustabouts, the dreamers andlazers, mencaught in the backwash of space, men like himself and Craig who had neverwanted to do much of anything and had found Mars a fine place to do it in.

"Fivethousand, ten thousand years back the Martians made the Blue Bottle," saidBeck. "Blown from Martian glass—and lost and found and lost and foundagain and again."

Hestared into the wavering heat shimmer of the dead city. All my life, thoughtBeck, I've done nothing and nothing inside the nothing. Others, better men,have done big things, gone off to Mercury, or Venus, or out beyond the System.Except me. Not me. But the Blue Bottle canchangeall that.

Heturned and walked away from the silent car.

Craigwas out and after him, moving easily along. "What is it now, ten yearsyou've hunted? You twitch when you sleep, wake up in fits, sweat through thedays. You want the damn bottlethatbad,and don't know what's in it. You're a fool, Beck."

"Shutup, shut up," said Beck, kicking a slide of pebbles out of his way.

Theywalked together into the ruined city, over a mosaic of cracked tiles shapedinto a stone tapestry of fragile Martian creatures, long-dead beasts whichappeared and disappeared as a slight breath of wind stirred the silent dust.

"Wait,"said Beck. He cupped his hands to his mouth and gave a great shout. "Youthere!"

"... there," said an echo, and towers fell. Fountains and stone pillarsfolded into themselves. That was the way of these cities. Sometimes towers asbeautiful as a symphony would fall at a spoken word. It was like watching aBach cantata disintegrate before your eyes.

And,searching, Craig paused, a faint smile on his lips. "In that bottle,"he said, "is there a little accordion woman, all folded up like one ofthose tin cups, or like one of those Japanese flowers you put in water and itopens out?"

"Idon't need a woman."

"Maybeyou do. Maybe you never had arealwoman,a woman who loved you, so, secretly, that's what you hope is in it." Craigpursed his mouth. "Or maybe, in that bottle, something from yourchildhood. All in a tiny bundle—a lake, a tree you climbed, green grass, somecrayfish. How'sthatsound?"

Craignodded. "What's in the bottle would depend, maybe, on who's looking. Now,if there was a shot ofwhiskeyinit..."

"Keeplooking," said Beck.

Therewere seven rooms filled with glitter and shine; from floor to tiered ceilingthere were casks, crocks, magnums, urns, vases—fashioned of red, pink, yellow,violet, and black glass. Beck shattered them, one by one, to eliminate them, toget them out of the way so he would never have to go through them again.

Beckfinished his room, stood ready to invade the next. He was almost afraid to goon. Afraid thatthistime he wouldfind it; that the search would be over and the meaning would go out of his life.Only after he had heard of the Blue Bottle from fire-travelers all the way fromVenus to Jupiter, ten years ago, had life begun to take on a purpose. The feverhad lit him and he had burned steadily ever since. If he worked it properly,the prospect of finding the bottle might fill his entire life to the brim.Another thirty years, if he was careful and not too diligent, of search, neveradmitting aloud that it wasn't the bottle that counted at all, but the search,the running and the hunting, the dust and the cities and the going-on.

Beckheard a muffled sound. He turned and walked to a window looking out into thecourtyard. A small gray sand cycle had purred up almost noiselessly at the endof the street. A plump man with blond hair eased himself off the spring seatand stood looking into the city. Another searcher. Beck sighed. Thousands ofthem, searching and searching. But there were thousands of brittle cities andtowns and villages and it would take a millennium to sift them all.

"Howyou doing?" Craig appeared in a doorway.

"Noluck." Beck sniffed the air. "Do you smell anything?"

"What?"Craig looked about.

"Smellslike—bourbon."

"Ho!"Craig laughed. "That'sme!”

"You?"

"Ijust took a drink. Found it in the other room. Shoved some stuff around, a messof bottles, like always, and one of them had some bourbon in it, so I hadmyself a drink."

Beckwas staring at him, beginning to tremble. "What—what would bourbon bedoinghere,in a Martianbottle?" His hands were cold. He took a slow step forward. "Showmel"

"I'msure that . . ."

"Showme, damn you!"

Itwas there, in one corner of the room, a container of Martian glass as blue asthe sky, the size of a small fruit, light and airy in Beck's hand as he set itdown upon a table.

"It'shalf-full of bourbon," said Craig.

"Idon't see anything inside," said Beck.

"Thenshake it."

Beckpicked it up, gingerly shook it.

"Hearit gurgle?"

"No."

"Ican hear it plain."

Beckreplaced it on the table. Sunlight spearing through a side window struck blueflashes off the slender container. It was the blue of a star held in the hand.It was the blue of a shallow ocean bay atnoon. It was the blue of a diamond at morning.

"Thisisit," said Beck quietly."I know it is. We don't have to look anymore. We've found the BlueBottle."

Craiglooked skeptical. "Sure you don'tseeanything in it?"

"Nothing. . . But—" Beck bent close and peered deeply into the blue universe ofglass. "Maybe if I open it up and let it out, whatever it is, I'llknow."

"Iput the stopper in tight. Here." Craig reached out.

"Ifyou gentlemen will excuse me," said a voice in the door behind them.

Theplump man with blond hair walked into their line of vision with a gun. He didnot look at their faces, he looked only at the blue glass bottle. He began tosmile. "I hate very much to handle guns," he said, "but it is amatter of necessity, as I simplymusthavethat work of art. I suggest that you allow me to take it without trouble."

Beckwas almost pleased. It had a certain beauty of timing, this incident; it wasthe sort of thing he might have wished for, to have the treasure stolen beforeit was opened. Now there was the good prospect of a chase, a fight, a series ofgains and losses, and, before they were done, perhaps another four or fiveyears spent upon a new search.

"Comealong now," said the stranger. "Give it up." He raised the gunwarningly.

Beckhanded him the bottle.

"Amazing.Really amazing," said the plump man. "I can't believe it was assimple as this, to walk in, hear two men talking, and to have the Blue Bottlesimplyhandedto me. Amazing!"And he wandered off down the hall, out into the daylight, chuckling to himself.